


Thinking of England

by ingridmatthews



Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: Banter, F/M, Love, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingridmatthews/pseuds/ingridmatthews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Porn Battle. Bertie/Elizabeth, support</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking of England

He rarely stammers here.

Breathless, yes, he often finds himself, that's not unusual. Speechless, yes, almost always at some points, but she never asks him to talk, not here.

Always, she's smiling at him as they love, driving him out of his mind with a joyful lust that hasn't faded, not even after ten years and two beautiful children.

He can cup her round face forever and never grow tired of it. He can caress her full breasts and always find something new to adore. Kiss her long neck and thrill at how his teeth ache to nibble the tendons there, no matter how she laughs her protests, while traveling in the Rolls or sometimes in the stable when he follows her there on a whim, tumbling her to the hay and loving every moment of her _faux_ horror.

"We'll be discovered," she exclaims, her ridiculous hat fallen off, her dark hair a delightfully frizzy halo. "Bertie!"

"The scandal of it all," he whispers, tugging at her blouse, leaving the pearls to fall where they may. "The servants will tell e-everyone, he's sleeping with his _wife_. They shall ne-e-ever recover."

She finds this wonderfully funny, for a moment. "You are a king!" she protests as he slides up her skirt with knowing hands.

The dry hay tickles them both in places better left unspoken and he loves how she wriggles in such a way to allow her brasserie to come off with ease. "And you are my beautiful queen," he replies, very reasonably. "If I cannot rule here, where can I ru-ule?"

She stills and looks at him, her sweet eyes searching his. "Do you believe you rule me here, dearest?" Before he can answer, her blouse and skirt are off with one smooth motion and she's straddling him, wearing only her stockings, garters and new velvet shoes.

He gapes at her. She's just naked --and just dressed enough -- to drive any sane man completely mad. "You are amazing," he says, admiring the way she brushes off the compliment as a mere fact.

She throws her head back and laughs before leaning in to touch their noses together. "You are far too easily impressed, my love. Although I might know a few tricks still ..."

She pulls him out with a gentle touch and slides down upon him, so wonderfully warm and wet and it's as perfect as their first time, all over again. He adores how she still bites her lip as she moves, how her eyes sparkle and how he's never, ever grown weary of this -- of _her_ , the adorable woman she is.

Within a single shuddering exhale, he loses himself inside of her, feeling safer than he's ever felt. She is his anchor, the strong mast of every ship he's ever sailed, his ultimate support -- and he loves her as any good sailor should, with every fiber of his soul.

He grasps her hips hard and rocks up. She gasps suddenly and he feels like a king with every sweet noise she makes, even more so than on the day when the Archbishop placed the crown on his head, more than the day when the crowds called his name again and again, hoping to merely see his face.

"Bertie ..." she whispers breathlessly and it's then he thinks he can win any war.

As well as give any speech. "I love you," he breathes, his eyes closed and he's thinking of England, embodied as she is in his adored wife who is crying out and falling apart above him as she climaxes helplessly in his embrace. "And you are mine."

"Yours," she agrees, wide-eyed and he gives himself up to her, body and soul, as any good King should.


End file.
